Page 54 of The Baron Takes a Wife

“Dutch courage,” he answered her unspoken question, handed her a glass, and sat on her bed.

“Is this one of yours?” she guessed.

“Indeed. Have you ever had sherry?”

Elena shook her head as she considered the dark liquid in the glass. It smelled almost medicinal. She did not quite understand the appeal, but she recognized that this strong-smelling liquid helped them afford this townhouse, so she gathered herself and took a sip. The taste made her want to gag, but she forced herself to swallow it out of politeness. She could tell from his expression as he watched her that David was fighting a grin at her internal struggle.

When she recovered her ability to speak, she gasped out, “It is…refreshing.”

“It may be an acquired taste. I was raised on it, so I had to grow up tasting sherry, though I think the first time I tried it as a lad, I might have spit it out behind my father’s back.” He took a sip, then added, “Imagine my disappointment when we had to turn more to sherry and other fortified wines after the Médoc Classification in 1855.” He trailed off as he took in the blank look on Elena’s face. “But I am disappointed. I brought you the sweetest one, Dulce.”

That made her smile, though she couldn’t quite call this sweet as her tastes were overwhelmed by the bitter. Her mind returned to something he had said.

“Why did you say courage? Why do I need courage tonight?”

“Oh, the courage is for me, for fear my friends will do something so embarrassing that it would drive you away.”

“I am not worried about that. I have met them before.” She gestured, waving off his concern as she braved taking another very, very small sip.

“Be careful. It is a fortified wine, so there is more alcohol than the wine you may be used to.”

“Ah, that explains the smell,” she murmured.

“Pardon?”

“You know,” she offered as she attempted to change the subject, “there is a wine from Cyprus that my father used to drink. He let me try it once, and it tasted much like this. But I do not remember what it is called.”

“Most wines and spirits are named for their region, so it may have been named after the specific location in Cyprus. Sherry comes from a place called Jerez in Spain. Champagne comes from Champagne, in France. There is an Italian fortified wine called Marsala we recently began importing from—” He waved his free hand dramatically. “Marsala in Sicily. It seems you were prescient in your intuition that your friend would make an excellent assistant, as she knows Sicilian.”

“It is all her own merit. She is a force to be reckoned with.”

“True. But you do tend to bring out people’s strengths. To see something others might not see, even in themselves.” He paused awkwardly as he finished, as if he had just said too much, then seemed to abruptly jump to his next question. “You say her husband was transported?” His brow furrowed as Elena nodded. “That is odd. Men are rarely transported these days. She’s sure he’s not in prison somewhere here?”

Elena shook her head and braved another sip of sherry, but it was much too large and almost made her choke. While she tried to cover her coughing, she saw David’s gaze travel to the skirt of her gown as if suddenly caught by something.

“My lady,” he said softly, all thoughts of prison seeming to evaporate. “You’re wearing something bright.”

“Yes, well, I can’t stay hovering between mourning and not mourning forever.” She tried to keep her tone light, but her heart warmed that he had noticed.

“There is something called half mourning, but I suppose it doesn’t apply to the case.”

Taking in his expression, she frowned. He looked concerned when she thought he would be pleased.

Noticing her scrutiny, he sat on her bed, head bowed. After a moment, he looked up at her. “Elena, I don’t want you to push yourself if you’re not ready,” he explained. “You’re in an impossible position with no good solution. If you want your clothing to reflect that…” He held his hand up as he trailed off.

She considered her words as she eyed the remaining sherry, then set her glass down at her vanity.

“Husband, this does not mean I have moved on or am trying to force myself. ” She looked back at the sherry as she strove to find the words. Perhaps it did offer some kind of courage. “Sometimes when it feels like the world is ending, if you just breathe and smile, and think to yourself, ‘Someday, I will wake up, and I will enjoy the sun and the sky and the air again, though not today,’ well it’s a little like putting on that smile, even if you don’t mean it yet. Do you understand? I’m not saying I’m whole, but it’s more the hope that someday I will be.”

“I’ve felt that way before,” he said after a moment. “When my father died, the first few days, I hardly bathed or changed my clothing. But after a week, my valet forced me to shave, bathe, and obtain a mourning wardrobe. I wasn’t ready to stop grieving. But it was the start of a new phase. I felt the same outside Balaclava after the incident with the laudanum.”

Elena nodded and stroked Goliath’s nose, glad they were speaking again like they used to. She was suddenly struck by how well-matched they were. Looking over at her husband, she was not sure she would have ever created him in her wildest imagination, would have ever dreamed she would end up here with this tall, striking Englishman.

He noticed her heated gaze and returned it with a smoldering look of such force that she felt down to her toes, then he appeared to catch himself and glanced away. “That being said, you do look breathtaking in that gown,” he said politely.

She was embarrassed by how pleased she was by his compliment. “Husband, you must stop this flattery. My vanity will not take kindly to it.”

“You’re not vain, Elena.”